It was just the two of us, on the day we moved in. Like I'd already told Sasha, Whitney had to work, and when I asked Sasha if she had any family or friends coming to help, she shook her head, flushing, and didn't look at me when she answered.

"Uh, no, they're all busy. It's- it's just going to be me and you, I guess."

If it had been a guy, or even a girl less obviously shy and self-conscious than Sasha, I would have assumed this to be a flirty line. I knew it wasn't, but I couldn't resist the wide open opportunity for jokes and innuendo.

"Damn, woman, you're really eager to get me alone already, huh?" I laughed, nudging my shoulder gently against mine. "Not that I'm complaining."

I didn't expect the light, flirty push to almost knock Sasha over. I hadn't taken into account the odd, slightly skewed way that she tended to hold herself, so between the weight she put towards her right side and the bump I'd given to her left, she staggered. Instinctively I reached my arms out to catch and support her, stopping her from falling to her knees. Even as I steadied her, I noticed that only her left arm had shot out in an effort to balance herself, although she was falling to her right. Her right arm had stayed down, as though weighted, and only moved to grasp onto me after I had already caught hold of her.

"Sorry!" she gasped, her fingers biting into my biceps as she took in a few breaths. "I didn't mean…I mean, I'm-"

"What are you sorry for?" I asked, surprising even myself at how gentle my voice was when I addressed her, no longer carrying any trace of mocking or jokes. "I'm the one who pushed you, obviously way harder than I thought I did. What a welcome, right?"

Sasha gave a short laugh, shaking her head. Her fingers loosened on my arms, but she didn't let go entirely, and she didn't try to step away from me.

"It wasn't you, I'm just…really clumsy. Least athletic person in the world."

"Then we'll make a good match, because I'm one of those in the running for laziest," I told her lightly.

I lightened my touch, almost into a cradling of her limbs or a loose embrace, and I noted that Sasha pressed herself into it. I ran a finger up her arm, smoothing back a strand of her hair, and Sasha's eyes half closed, her breath catching. This was definitely becoming a moment.

Then I had to open my big mouth.

"This is probably totally rude, but I've never been accused of being overly polite and I'm probably not about to reform any time soon. But your back…the way you stand, I mean. Do you have scoliosis, or something like that?"

Sasha's eyes opened, her body stiffening immediately. I felt the distance between us before it became physical, before she pulled herself out of my arms and stepped a few feet away. I heard it in her voice when she answered me.

"Something like that."

She started to walk towards her parked car in the apartment complex parking lot, calling over her shoulder to me without meeting my eyes.

"I'm going to carry some things in. Sorry for the…sorry."

I still wasn't sure what she was apologizing for, but after the response to my question about her back, I wasn't about to ask.

It didn't occur to me until almost an hour later, when we had finished carrying in all our boxes and belongings and they lay in a mess scattered across the floors and halls, that I had made an assumption when I asked Sasha about her family coming to help. I didn't remember her mentioning actually having a family, other than a sister. Was it possible that she didn't have one, or that they were so terrible in some way, she would rather not acknowledge them?

88

We didn't actually need any help with the moving, as it turned out. Other than clothes, toiletries, and boxes of books, notebooks, and the belongings she needed for school, Sasha seemed to possess very little. She had no furniture, no household supplies, no useless knick-knacks or sentimental childhood toys. To my astonishment, she didn't even bring a bed or bedding supplies.

"What, did you sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor, or live in some kind of cult that believed in sleeping standing up?" I asked, incredulous. "No wonder you're a little lopsided."

I realized as soon as I said it that again, this was not the most tactful way to have expressed myself. At this rate I would be lucky if Sasha didn't punch me in the face or just walk out. I couldn't blame her. What was it about me that made me act like an asshole to people that I actually liked, people that I sort of cared if they liked me?

But Sasha just rolled her eyes. Maybe she was getting used to me already.

"I shared a room with my sister," she explained. "She's still living with our parents. It wouldn't be right for me to take the things we shared away from her."

Even then, I was starting to get very curious about Sasha. She was far from open about her personal information, something that was very foreign to my and Whitney's more open nature. Was this just natural to her reserved personality, or was there more behind that?

"But what about your bed?" I persisted. "I get leaving behind like, your desk or nightstand or dresser, for your sister. But why would she need your bed?"

Sasha's shoulders twitched, tightening visibly, and I saw her swallow as her eyes skated past mine.

"We shared a bed too," she said shortly. "Don't worry, Caitlin, I have some money. I'll buy a bed for myself, and anything else I'll need."

I wasn't worried, not then. I was just confused. What kind of family didn't buy their daughters beds of their own? Were they that poor, or was the room too small for two beds or even bunkbeds?

There were plenty of questions I had, but I had seen the closed off way that Sasha's face had set itself, and I tried to put them aside. She might not have a lot of unpacking and setting up to do, but Whitney had unburdened every junky, mismatched, outdated, and poorly constructed piece of furniture she had onto me, glad to avoid a trip to the Good Will or more aptly, the dump. We had a lot of work and in Sasha's case, shopping, to accomplish. I had plenty of time to figure out how to pry open Sasha's secrets. After all, we were officially living together, at least for the next twelve months that our lease dictated.

"No worries here," I told her lightly, giving her a smile. "Come on, roomie, let's get to this."

88

Sasha was no stronger than she looked- in other words, not. I noticed how she struggled to lift boxes of books, how she had to rest often and set things down before trying again. It was a good thing that my bed was dismantled into pieces and that the couch Whitney had donated for our use was really a tiny loveseat, because I doubt she could have handled much more. Same for my shabby collection of chairs and what passed for a kitchen table, which was actually just a couple of card tables pushed together. Whitney had reckoned if we put a table cloth over them, no one would know the difference, and I didn't care enough to challenge the obviously incorrect assumption.

We were probably a near comedy show, between the two of us. With my clumsiness and Sasha's dire lack of physical strength, it was a good thing I didn't actually own dishes or belongings that were breakable or worth much, because we would have ended up with more objects destroyed than neatly put away for use. But somehow, we got my bed set up, although I wouldn't be volunteering to jump on it any time soon to overly test it. With almost everything finally out of boxes an off the floor, I finally collapsed backward dramatically on our couch/ loveseat, throwing my head back in only partly exaggerated exhaustion and closing my eyes.

"God, I need coffee now. Or my very badly constructed bed. Or a drink. Or all of the above?" I opened my eyes a slit, looking for Sasha to see if she was listening. "Yeah, sounds good. One coffee, heavily spiked with booze, while lying in my badly constructed bed."

Sasha smiled, nodding in seeming agreement. She stood near me awkwardly, and I noticed that there were no other chairs in the bare living room area for her to sit in. She would either have to sit at the "kitchen table" in the kitchen area, which was a good distance apart from me and would seem kind of weird and isolating, or else on the couch with me. The couch was obviously preferable to me, but she wasn't making the move without an invitation.

So I gave her one. Patting the open space, small as it was, beside me, I rolled my head in her direction against the back of the couch and jerked my chin towards the empty seat.

"You can sit if you want, I'm cootie free and I don't bite. Unless you want me to, that is."

I winked, enjoying the quick flush that colored her cheeks. She was so easy to fluster, and it was fun to watch the affect I could have on her with such little effort.

"Just messing with you," I assured her, just in case she did think I was some kind of thirsty sex-obsessed weirdo that was really out to seduce her. "Sit, Sash. Chill with me."

The shortening of her name slipped out automatically, as if I had known her long enough to have earned the right. But Sasha didn't correct me, and she didn't resist. She sat beside me, her slim hip brushing against my wider one and maintaining the light contact as her weight settled. I could feel the tension of her body and lifted my head, looking over at her more seriously.

"Hey, for real. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. If you don't like anything I say or do, just tell me to fuck off or get the hell over myself, okay? We're gonna be living together, Sasha, and we need to be okay with that. If you think I'm being a pain in the ass, tell me. I promise, I'll survive and manage to refrain from killing you for saying it."

Sasha smiled, relaxing. I was relieved to feel her sink back into the couch, more at ease, her shoulder brushing mine.

"You're not, really. I'm just…I'm sorry. I'm just…shy. This is…I've never done this before."

"What, move in with a stranger? I get it, it's a little nerve-wracking?"

"No…well, yes, I haven't done that," Sasha admitted, letting out a breath slowly. "But it's more…I haven't really done this." She waved her hand vaguely, in a gesture that encompassed both of us and the room in one. "I haven't really…had friends."

Part of me was pretty surprised and admittedly, kind of thrilled to hear Sasha already referring to me as a friend. But mostly I was taken aback by what she was implying. What exactly had her life been like, that she had gotten through nineteen years without hanging out with a friend?

I wanted to know more. Hell, I wanted to know anything about Sasha that she thought worth telling me; I was far more interested in what she might have to say than I was in most people I'd known for less than a week. But I didn't know how to ask her without embarrassing her or making her shut down, so I settled for a light response that didn't acknowledge the gravity of what she'd shared.

"Well you're coming up on a lot of firsts today then, yeah? First apartment of your own, first roommate, and first time chilling with a friend as awesome as you'll find me to be. Fist bump for firsts!"

I held up my fist in what I intended as an exaggeratedly dorky gesture of solidarity. Sasha stared at my hand as though it were some slightly deformed object she couldn't identify fully, or maybe just because she was questioning her sanity in agreeing to be my roommate. But she did tentatively tap her fist against mine and smiled.

"Right. Firsts."

Letting her hand drop down to her lap, she leaned back, almost mirroring my posture against the couch, and released a sigh. "I'm exhausted."

"I hear you," I acknowledged, giving her a lazy but sincere smile and letting my head loll over towards her on the couch's back until it nearly rested against hers. "I prescribe pizza. Pizza and beer. Pizza, beer, and wine."

I saw the way Sasha started to nod, then stopped herself, hesitation scrunching her brow, and arched an eyebrow towards her. "What, you've never drank either? What were you, a Catholic private school girl? Do you still have plaid skirts and knee socks in your closet?"

"No, I'm not religious," Sasha said seriously, shaking her head. "And I was homeschooled. But, uh, no, I haven't really drank much."

Well, that was three pretty significant nuggets of information, all dropped in a few seconds. Her status of being a former homeschooler both explained a lot and also gave me several more questions, but I let that one go for now and focused on the actual topic at hand.

"Can you make an exception for today?" I asked, sitting upright. "No pressure, it's cool if you don't want to. But I've got two bottles of wine and a six pack in the fridge, and it's more fun to share than drink alone."

Sasha hesitated, but then gave a firm nod, meeting my eyes with her own.

"No, that sounds good. I mean…I mean, yes, I'd like that."

Five minutes later we were back on the loveseat/couch, TV trays with tall stands set in front of us to hold the dollar store wine glasses I had set us up with. The pizza was on its way, and I had poured us both generous portions of the cheap merlot, available to us thanks to Whitney understanding that waiting until age 21 to drink was ridiculous and unreasonable. We had an arrangement between us- I would refrain from using a fake ID, trying to bullshit myself into clubs or bars, or letting skeevy guys buy me drink they might have slipped roofies or LSD into, and she would buy me whatever alcohol I gave her the money for and therefore keep an eye on what and how much I was drinking. It was a system I was cool with and that worked for us both.

Sasha sipped at the wine, making a face at first, but got used to it quickly and seemed to enjoy the taste. I watched her, noticing her rubbing unconsciously at the small of her back, and lightly set my hand there, making sure to be gentle.

"You hurt?"

Sasha didn't startle at the touch or slip away. I thought she leaned into my hand a little, actually, even as she answered with some deflection.

"No, just a little sore. I'm all right."

Granted, we had just been hauling boxes and other belongings. Still, none of it had been boxes of bricks or even furniture of any level of sturdiness. But Sasha had an air of fragility about her, and as I studied her, noting the pallor of her skin, I wondered if she was genuinely sickly. Home schooled, inexperienced, somewhat socially awkward…was it possible she had mostly kept indoors until recently, maybe even in a hospital? Had she had some sort of serious illness or injury?

I kept my hand on her back, mind whirring with sharpened interest.

"Hey, I'm not being nosy," I started, before breaking into a sheepish grin. "Okay, so I am, I'm totally being nosy. You don't have to answer me if you don't want, just tell me to mind my own business. But I noticed your breathing seeming a little off when we were moving things today. And now your back seems hurt. Do you have asthma or something? Or is it the scoliosis thing?"

Sasha's eyes narrowed, and she looked me over carefully, assessing me. I guess I must have passed whatever silent trust test she was giving, because her voice was calm when she answered, and she allowed me to keep my hand where it was, still.

"No, I don't have asthma, Caitlin. Or scoliosis, exactly. I do have some spinal problems…uh, I guess you would call them abnormalities. But I'm not sick, or injured. I promise you, you didn't take on some invalid or unwanted burden of responsibility when you agreed to live with me."

"Hey, that's not what I meant," I protested, genuinely concerned that she might believe this. "I didn't think that, I was just-"

"I understand," Sasha said gently. "It's okay. I believe you. It's okay."

She touched her hand against mine, tugging it lightly until I let her take it from her back and twine its fingers in hers. She squeezed my hand lightly, holding it between our thighs.

I caught my breath then, anticipant. The open, soft look of her expression, the slight tilt of her head towards me and the way she had rearranged her hand into mine, made me think that she would make some kind of move. Kiss me, or maybe more. I was ready and more than willing if she made any kind of indication that she was feeling this way too, if this was what she wanted.

But she didn't. Instead Sasha gave my hand another squeeze, then let go of it, asking me if I wanted to pick out a movie. There were other things I wanted to do a lot more, but I nodded, taking a breath to gather myself, and settled back against the couch, letting her flip through my somewhat limited DVD collection.

It was probably for the best, I told myself, as Sasha's back was turned and she could not read my expression of disappointment. She was my roommate, not my hook up or date. We had to live with each other. Just because she was cute, mysterious, and interesting didn't mean that I should be doing anything about it. There were millions of other people out there for those purposes. Sasha wasn't interested, which was probably smart. I hadn't even expected to like whoever ended up being my roommate, so I should consider it a bonus that we could probably be friends.

But as Sasha slipped her chosen DVD into the player and resettled herself back beside me, I was very much aware of her body close to mine, touching me just enough to make me shiver each time one of us shifted in our seat.

I'm not the most affectionate person in the world, although I'm not against it either. Still, I'm not normally the type to stay in bed and cuddle after sex, and I definitely don't sit in people's laps in public or play with girl's hair. And I barely knew this girl.

So why was I fighting the urge to wrap and arm around her waist and draw her close?